


what am i without you?

by cacowhistle



Series: dsmp anthology [2]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: "what am i without you?" "yourself" hey look how hard i can CRY, just kind of a little study after the events of today, just thinkin abt the clingyduo and That Quote, tommy just shatter my fucking heart why dont u
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:55:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28885737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cacowhistle/pseuds/cacowhistle
Summary: the thing is, it’s never been tommy, alone.it has always been tommy and. tommy and wilbur. tommy and technoblade. tommy and dream. tommy and tubbo, most noticeably.it has been tommy and tubbo for as long as he can remember. it has never been just tommy.or;in the aftermath of the war, tommy considers some things.
Relationships: Tubbo & Tommyinnit
Series: dsmp anthology [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168076
Comments: 27
Kudos: 297





	what am i without you?

the thing is, it’s never been tommy, alone.

it has always been _tommy and._ tommy and wilbur. tommy and technoblade. ~~tommy and dream.~~ tommy and tubbo, most noticeably.

it has been tommy and tubbo for as long as he can remember. it has never been just tommy.

he goes over the events from earlier today, laying sprawled out on his bed in his shitty little dirt shack on the cliffside. tubbo is curled up beside him, elbow pressing into his stomach and head tucked at an odd angle against his shoulder, but tommy could care less about the discomfort--tubbo’s presence is more grounding and more comforting than the discs he holds in his hands.

these discs almost cost him tubbo’s life, today.

he runs a thumb over the vinyl, feeling the grooves etched into its surface. he could burn them, lose them forever. they could be replaced. they could be so, so easily replaced.

the boy, snoring against his shoulder, warm and breathing and _alive_ cannot be replaced.

he let it happen with wilbur. he will not let it happen again--he will never let anything like it happen again. he doesn’t know who he _is_ without tubbo. wilbur died and it wrenched some awful thing in his soul out of place, reached in and fucked up some integral part of him. if tubbo were to leave him, too… tommy doesn’t think he’d ever be able to recover.

he still hasn’t recovered from wilbur. not really. he doesn’t think he ever will, and hopefully… hopefully he won’t have to, not entirely. it all depends on how the next few days go.

there will be time to worry about resurrections and keeping dream secure and making amends with people he used to call brothers, used to call fathers, used to call friends without guilt and a lump in his throat. there is still work to be done, and there will always _be_ work to be done--rome was not built in a day, and the city that is his ever-shifting and spiraling living situation is always under construction. there will be things to mend, and the time to mend them, now.

but right now, this moment, is for resting.

tommy tucks the discs into his ender chest, and falls asleep with his chin resting on top of tubbo’s head.

* * *

“i almost lost you, y’know,” tommy says the next morning.

the two of them are seated in tommy’s house, still, but the windows and door are open and tommy’s made a campfire right in the middle of the main living space because his house has never really had proper structure anyways, and the smoke drifts up through the little skylight he’s carved for himself in the dirt. they’re cooking over the open flame, tommy doing his best to replicate the eggs technoblade made on tommy’s first morning in his cabin.

tubbo looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “that’s a weird way of saying we both almost died.”

“ _you_ almost died, tubbo,” tommy says, carefully avoiding his gaze. “you heard dream.”

“i did,” tubbo says, measured. an unspoken _but_ hangs in the air.

“... what?” tommy looks up, frowning. tubbo just looks sad.

“i’m sure you would’ve found a way to get out of it,” he says, softly.

it takes tommy a moment to realize what he means. he thinks of lava, of drowning, falling, flying--

“it just wouldn’t have been worth it without you,” tommy mumbles, and he can feel the way tubbo frowns, stares at him.

“if i ever die, tommy,” tubbo starts, sounding several steps closer to the boy who helped tommy and wilbur begin l’manburg. his tone is bright, jovial, anything but appropriate for the topic. “don’t throw it all away, yeah?”

tommy swallows. thinks of wilbur, bleeding out on the precipice of glory.

he thinks of the very first duel with dream, arrows notched and drawn and fire in his eyes, bold and young and unafraid.

he did not throw it all away then. he isn’t going to start now.

“yeah,” he says, reaching for tubbo’s hand. tubbo reaches back. “i won’t. just don’t die on me.”

tubbo snorts, leaning against his shoulder. “wouldn’t dream of it, big man.”

* * *

tommy is a million different people all at once. he is pieces of the ones he loves, a person made up of the love he holds for others. that is what defines him, he thinks--how much he cares. how much of himself he pours into someone, something, anything--the way he manifests himself in this world in relation to other people, other things. he cannot be himself without having _someone_ to lean on.

he’s a social creature, at heart. this will never change.

“i don’t know if i want wilbur back,” he whispers to tubbo, their hands entwined, practically entangled on the bench, listening to cat again. tubbo leans their heads together, and tommy takes tubbo’s hand between both of his own, tracing his thumbs across the lines of his palm. swiping across the fresh scar on the back of tubbo’s hand where dream’s axe caught him during the fight. he doesn’t want to think about the others that likely cover tubbo’s torso. there’s a similar scar on tommy’s face, he knows, just longer and deeper, not quite past the point of scabbing yet. it’ll take another day of healing potions for it to properly scar.

it’s almost a sick mirror of dream’s own scar, from the duel he had with technoblade, all those years ago.

funny, how history repeats.

“why’s that?” tubbo asks, keeping his voice low.

he doesn’t know.

well, no. he does know. but he doesn’t, at the same time. wilbur was kind to him, cared about him more than anyone else possibly could have apart from tubbo, maybe, but even that is pushing it. but wilbur was scary, and crude, and cruel, and he shouted and raved about explosions and violence and things that kept tommy up at night. but he was also his brother, and he loved him, and he’s proud of him, he’s said it himself.

tommy misses him so much it hurts. part of him is forever incomplete without his older brother, he knows, some integral piece of him has been torn out with wilbur’s death, and it is something that can only be repaired by bringing him back.

he’s just… scared.

he tucks his face into the crook of tubbo’s neck, not responding. tubbo squeezes his hand, gentle.

“we can take our time,” tubbo says, quietly. “you don’t have to decide, yet.”

“i need him, tubbo,” tommy whispers, almost horrified by the prospect. “he’s fuckin’ awful, but i need him.”

tubbo sighs, grip on his hand tightening. “you don’t need him, tommy. but it’s okay to want him, instead.”

he knows.

somehow, that makes him feel a little better.

* * *

of course, tommy can function on his own. he is his own person, regardless of how attached he may be at the hip with any given individual. he can take care of himself and is quite fuckin’ good at it, if he does say so himself. he doesn’t _need_ anybody, at least not in that sense. he’s well-off, and can take care of himself.

but tommy has never fared well on his own. exile was enough. he does not intend to ever sit in silence again.

so tubbo visits just about every day--sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for the entire day. when he isn’t there, tommy seeks out other neighbors, other noise, plays his discs on repeat until it fades into white noise in the back of his mind. anything at all to ensure he’s here, he’s alive, he’s living and he isn’t alone.

he ends up following tubbo around like a lost puppy, truth be told. he’s got his discs. they’re working on bringing wilbur back. he has nothing left to do, and so he follows his best friend to snowchester and the two of them cling to each other as though their lives depend on it.

clingy. maybe they were right to call him that. tommy can’t say he cares, though. who gives a damn if he’s fucking clingy? he’s fought to keep tubbo here, and he doesn’t plan on letting him go anytime soon. he will not lose another loved one, not when he knows he can protect them this time. and tubbo is not opposed to tommy’s presence--in fact, the two of them are always seeking each other out. their evenings are spent at tubbo’s house in snowchester or in tommy’s old shack, the two of them curled up beside each other with fingers entwined or hands braiding hair that’s gotten a tad too long or tommy buried in tubbo’s arms as though if he lets go, he’ll disappear back into dream’s cold, cruel hands.

but there is no more dream to haunt their waking hours, only their nightmares. more often than not one or both of them wake up in the middle of the night, and cling to each other until they can breathe again. there are battles to be fought, still, but for the most part, it’s over.

they’ve won the war.

finally, they can rest.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading! catch me over on tumblr and twitch @ cacowhistle for more frequent updates on my fics and other content pertaining to the dream smp


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